


Torn By The Storms In My Head

by hollyblue2



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2018 [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Altered Mental States, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blindfolds, Collars, Kinda Dark, M/M, Master!Cas, Master/Slave, Medical Examination, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Non-Con, Slave!Dean, good!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:13:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25749454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyblue2/pseuds/hollyblue2
Summary: Dean's never lasted this long with a Master, but then again, he's given up fighting.This one is different - and he finally finds out why.Kink Bingo Square: Collars
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2018 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1031918
Comments: 25
Kudos: 165





	Torn By The Storms In My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So... I was writing something else and then this struck me, so I wrote this instead. It's pretty dark, Dean's not in a good place... but there is a happy/ambiguous ending! :D 
> 
> The non-con isn't really between Dean and Cas, but it's implied in the past, the drugs aren't given to Dean by Cas, and he isn't examined by Cas either. This is a world where Masters and Slaves are a _thing_ so in some respects, it's "normal". 
> 
> If you feel more tags should be added, please let me know! 
> 
> Title is from Kamelot's song _Torn_

* * *

Dean hates it. 

The thick leather collar pressing against his throat, making it feel like it's going to obstruct his breathing. A long piece of hessian rope tied to the ring at the front, just enough that he can lie down to sleep or, more likely, pass out. His arms have been tied up behind his back. 

He doesn't want to think about what will happen if he tries to escape. No one wants an unruly slave. 

It's what he is, though. Stamped onto his auction file, written up in his notes; evidenced by his weeks-long stays in the correction centre. Dean shivers. He will do just about anything not to go back there. If that meant kneeling in his new master's basement, then that will be what he'll do. 

He hates himself for giving up, but at this point, he knows it's behave or get killed for misbehaving. 

He gets taken up to the main house once a day, not that he gets to see it because of the blindfold that is wrapped around his eyes, but he is moved nonetheless and that beats kneeling all day long. 

His new Master has barely said a word to him, and he has never seen his face, but he feels kinder so far. He's only been hit twice in the time he's been here, a measly two weeks, but he knows that's some kind of record. 

Dean hears footsteps coming down the wooden steps, and then the warm presence of someone he assumes to be his Master. 

"Food." The single word is deep and rough. Dean obeys the command, opening his mouth. Something sweet and juicy passes his lips - an apple slice - and then gooey peanut butter. Several more slices pass his lips and he chews obediently. At least the food is nicer than what he's had before, something reminiscent of meal replacement milkshakes but fouler tasting. 

"Good," he says and Dean closes his mouth. 

"Thank you, Master." 

Then a hand cups under his chin, a thumb over his lips. Dean goes still, not sure what is being asked of him. 

"Quiet. Assessment day. Be good." The short, basic instructions are easy to follow and now he's decided to stop fighting, he'll do exactly what is asked of him. 

His master unclips the rope at the front of his collar and aids him in standing up. Something else is clipped onto the front instead and he's tugged forward. 

"Stairs." 

Dean finds the first step and climbs up after his master. His heart is pounding in his chest. He knows what assessment day is and it rarely ends well for him. Previously he's either been taken away by the assessor or beaten until he's unconscious, only to wake up bound, gagged and hurting. 

A hand to the front of his collar stops Dean in his tracks and he tries to guess where he is. It's quiet, and bright, as the light filters through his blindfold. There's a window open somewhere as there's a warm breeze ghosting over his naked flesh. 

"Kneel." Dean hesitates just for a moment but Master is patient. Something inside him begs him to fight again, to test the boundaries of what this new Master will take before he beats him, but then Master's words come back to him.  _ Be good _ . 

It's not the first time he's heard them, and he doubts it will be the last. 

Dean kneels. 

Master touches him, warm hands against the inside of his knees, pushing them apart a little more. Another hand to the small of his back, a reminder to sit up straight, and lastly a hand under his chin to keep his head up. 

"Stay." The word sounds firm and yet, Dean can sense Master is nervous. His masters have never been nervous before. 

The doorbell rings. Dean startles, but there's a calming hand to his shoulder and Dean breathes. 

"Mr Stevens, good morning." It's the first time he's heard his master's name.

"Ms Don, it's a pleasure." Dean hears Master hesitate before the word, but it's only noticeable because he's listening hard, waiting for someone to come near him, to touch him… to hit him. 

"Two-week post-auction assessment for… D401S. That's correct?"

"Yes."

"I've got a highlighted note here that he's previously displayed aggression and extreme disobedience. How have you coped with that?" she asks. Dean feels someone come close and by the smell, it’s not Master. Instinctively he tenses up ready for something, anything. 

"So far he has displayed very little of those traits."

"He is blindfolded?" Ms Don runs a hand over the strap that runs around to the buckle at the back of his head. 

"Reduces stimulation. He has settled well with it on, so I'm inclined to keep it on for a little longer." Dean's heartbeat quickens. He thinks he wants to see Master. To put a name to that voice and the kindness.

"Then I guess it'll stay on, and I'll take your word for it that his eyes are in good health so I can mark it down for the examination section of the assessment." Her voice sounds displeased, but Dean feels almost sure that Master won’t have his blindfold off. 

"Punishments? Taking then well, methods up to scratch?" 

"I dole them out where needed. My methods are just fine." Master sounds like he's growling when he gets annoyed.

"Just the examination. Do you have a bench?" 

"Yes. I'll get him up." 

This time when someone gets close he knows it's Master, his smell is distinct, musky but not unpleasant. A hand on his shoulder and a sharp command to stand is given and he obeys. 

There's a hand at the front of his collar, and it begins to lead him into another room, a door is opened and the temperature is slightly cooler. Dean shivers violently and stills, afraid of punishment, but all he gets is a warm hand on the small of his back. 

Dean's hip hits something soft and leathery and he comes to a stop. 

"I'm taking off the arm bindings. Be good." 

Dean doesn't reply and just waits patiently as the ropes around his arms are loosened and finally his hands are by his sides. His shoulders ache something fierce from being in the same position for a while but Master massages them for a few moments until the ache subsides a little. 

"We don't have time for coddling. Get him on the table." Ms Don sounds impatient. He remembers her from before and he had never liked her. He only hopes Master is present for the exam and doesn't get ushered out of the room. 

Master stops massaging his shoulders and Dean feels the loss instantly, even more so when he's encouraged onto the table, flat on his back. Dean holds his breath, hands trembling. He wishes he was braver than this, but every time Ms Don had examined him, it hadn't ended pleasantly. 

Slender hands touch him. Long, cold fingers against his pulse, tucked under his collar, and the other trailing down his naked body. Dean feels his stomach churn. The sound of velcro and then something is wrapped around his upper arm and a pressure. 

No one says anything, and it unnerves him. 

The same cold hands move his head to one side and then something is prodding inside his ear, and turned the other way and repeated. It's followed by an unpleasant tickling sensation as a swab goes inside his nose and another to the back of his throat, triggering his gag reflex. 

"Oh, I'm sure Mr Stevens will train that out of you," she sneers. As soon as the swab is removed, Dean clamps his mouth shut, refusing her attempts to check his teeth. 

"Ms Don, with all due respect, I would prefer it if you didn't goad him into misbehaving. I've been working with him and he's been responding to my methods just fine, I do not want to have to punish him in your presence as I'm sure it will undo what I've already trained." Master's voice is calm and yet, Dean knows he means business, except most of that was a lie. Master hasn't been training him, he's been keeping him in the basement hidden away.

"As you so wish," Ms Don grinds, but Dean doesn't believe she'll stop trying to test him. 

Her hands work down his body, poking his muscles which he hasn't used properly in a while. She palates his stomach, pressing in harder than should be necessary and Dean's lips part, releasing a whimper. 

"Abigail." Master's voice is nothing but a warning and thankfully she lets up without another word. 

Next, she makes him put his feet flat on the table, spreading his knees out. He'll take her touching him anywhere else every day for the rest of his life if she didn’t have to touch him there. He stifles his displeasure with gritted teeth but tries to keep relaxed, knowing that this will all be easier if he doesn’t fight it. It was a lesson he learnt the hard way, more than once. 

"He seems much more responsive than the last time I examined him. Have you been trying him out, James?" 

_ James _ . Master's name. Not that he would ever use it. 

"Please just finish the exam. I'm sure he's in good enough health." That just about sums it up. Dean hasn't been in good health, he knows since he… just  _ since _ . 

Ms Don seems to heed his words and the STD test, the inspection of his prostate with fingers that weren't lubricated enough, and her thoroughly and uncomfortably checking his cock all goes by in a few minutes. 

"Just his three booster shots and he'll be done."

There’s an obvious pause in the air, Dean lies as still as he can. He gets these every time he moves in with a new Master, and he's never known what they are. 

"What are you giving him?" 

"Just the standard two and due to his notes, I'll be giving him Kioline as well." Before she's even finished her sentence, Dean feels a sharp sting in his hip but he doesn't make a noise. 

"I don't think the Kioline is necessary. I have things to do this afternoon and I need him to be alert. It's going to mess him up for days until his brain takes it on." 

"Not my choice. Paperwork says I have to do it, you signed it." 

Dean hears Master's quiet gasp and Dean readies himself for it. It's not the first time but he sure hopes it's the last. Master seems intent on making him pass this assessment which means he probably wants to keep him for some time. 

The needle goes in and the rush of air sucked between Dean's teeth is unbidden. He lets it out slowly, carefully as heat begins to radiate from where it went in. 

"That's me done with the examination. Your slave has passed his assessment which means he'll stay with you. Call us when you're ready to move on." Dean hears the flap of papers. "This one has  _ never _ lasted long anywhere." 

Those words are the last thing he's able to focus on before a fog seems to draw over him. He blinks a few times under the blindfold but he can feel himself drifting. Distantly, he can hear more words being exchanged between Ms Don and Master but he can't quite figure out what and then it goes quiet. 

Time passes, though he can't work out how much. That Kioline passing through him makes him slow, makes him suggestible and relaxed. He hates it. He wasn't going to fight. Even Master seemed to know that. 

Eventually, he feels Master touch him, warm hands on his shoulder shaking him like he's trying to get him to wake up. 

"Mmph…" Dean’s voice doesn't work. 

The shaking stops and then he's being sat up. 

"... off… table… can… stand?" It takes him a moment but he pieces the half-sentence together and musters up the energy to turn his body so his legs are dangling off the edge. The blindfold causes him to lose his perception of how far the floor is away from his feet, but steady hands guide him down. "... basement… alert… fucked up." 

Dean can't work out that instruction, but he probably did fuck up, it seems to be what he does best. He sighs quietly and lets himself be led back down the stairs and kneeling on the floor. There's a snick of the lead on his collar being taken off, then the quiet rustle of rope and then tightness on his arms as he's rebound. 

He should have guessed that passing the assessment wouldn't grant him access to the house. He can help; he can cook and clean and if Master wants, he can please him any way he wishes. 

"Oh Dean…" the words break through the haze. 

"Yu mow my yame…" Dean slurs and something drips from his eyes. The tears are unexpected, only a few until Master wipes them away with his thumb. Master knows his name. It’s probably in his file, but none of his Masters have used his name before. It's the first time he's heard his name and not a number in years. 

Dean's left feeling woozy and tired. He lies down carefully on his side, then something soft is pulled over him, like a fleecy blanket. He shivers at the sensation but drifts off to sleep. 

The next few days are awful. Master comes down with food, but he barely takes any of it. It only gets worse when slices of apple, stews and potatoes morph into syringes full of milkshake, but it stops him feeling hungry at least. 

Master takes him upstairs, gets him exercising his legs and then he goes back down. By day three - or perhaps four - Dean feels marginally better. The effects of the Kiolone don't disappear after three days, though, it's some kind of slow-release agent that lasts for months at a time. It's just that he's never stayed with a master long enough to find out what happens after it disperses. 

At least Dean doesn't feel guilty for not fighting anymore. 

Master’s footsteps creak down the stairs and Dean expects to be touched, but there's a click and a small amount of light appears around the edges of the blindfold. 

"Oh Dean," Master says. Dean shivers and leans towards the voice. Master sounds so sad but he doesn't know why. 

"You know my name," Dean says and he remembers saying the same thing just days ago, but he can actually form words this time. 

"It's … it's in your file," Master tells him, but it's a lie, Dean can tell. 

There's silence, Dean remains kneeling but he hears Master sit down on one of the steps. It creaks, distinctly the bottom step. 

"Thank you for being good for your assessment," Master says. "She said there'd be another in six months, but you'll be long gone by then." 

Dean tenses, dropping his head to his chest. He should have known it would be too good to be true. It's not worth it being good, either, it seems. 

"Dean… no… I don't mean—" Master stops, grumbling to himself. 

Dean wonders if it's worth fighting at all, being passed between Masters, all different, all wanting different things. Maybe he can piss his next master off enough to beat him hard enough that he never wakes up again.

The hand under his chin startles him and he jerks backwards, only for Master to hold him again. "Dean, please understand that I have no intention of getting rid of you. Things are going to change around here. You'll see when I take off the blindfold. I just hope you won't hate me." 

"I don't hate you, Master." It's almost an automatic response but Dean realises that he means it for the most part. 

He hears Master sigh, the warm air brushing over his face. "You still might." 

Dean doesn't say anything else. He doesn't want to fight him. A hand at the back of his head unbuckles the blindfold and it's pulled gently from his eyes. 

The room is bright, so Dean closes his eyes until he adjusts to the light behind his eyelids. Then slowly his eyes open. Everything is fuzzy from not being able to see for weeks. His eyes don't focus but they can make out dark hair, and an angular face in front of him. He blinks several times trying to clear it and already he can feel the beginnings of a headache.

Eventually, things begin to clear, and he's faced with sad blue eyes. 

Familiar sad blue eyes. 

Dean's eyes widen and he gasps, moving back out of reach. He's thwarted by the rope tethered to his collar and the eye bolt in the floor, but he keeps yanking. It hurts, and he's choking but that man in front of him was his best friend. He's grown up, and his voice has changed but it's him. Those eyes are unmistakable. 

"Dean, stop!" he shouts but Dean doesn't. His head is hurting, his throat is hurting, his  _ heart _ is hurting. "Fuck, I did all of this wrong." 

Master brings out a knife, cutting the hessian rope in one swipe, it sends Dean flying backwards, breathing hard. His shoulders hurt from landing on his arms. There are tears on Master's face as he comes over, knife still in his hand and Dean can't fight him, he can't struggle or get away. He's backed onto the ground. 

Dean's arms are released and he yelps as the ache rears up in his muscles and joints. 

"Dean, please. It's me, it's Castiel. Don't be scared." 

"Cas…" The name is foreign on his lips. Nearly ten years it has been since he said that name. 

"Yes. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through all this. I tried so hard." 

"Cas," Dean repeats but he doesn’t have anything to say to him.

"Come on, let's get you upstairs." 

"Yes, Master."

Castiel stops, turning on him with big wide eyes. "Don't… don't call me that." 

Dean's heart sinks. He did something wrong. 

"What should I call you?" Dean asks quietly as they go up the stairs. 

"Castiel... just Cas." 

The Kioline is messing with his head, he knows that objectively, but it tells him he shouldn't call Master by his name. But he can't disobey the orders he's been given. 

Upstairs is bright and airy, and for some reason, he expected somewhere darker and dingier, like the places his previous Masters have lived. 

"This isn't my real home if that's what you're thinking. There's a lot I need to tell you, Dean, but I don't want to go through it when you've still got the Kioline in your system. The effects are going to last a while but from now onwards you're not a slave. Do you understand?"

Dean blinks at him, words lost in his throat. Not a slave anymore? He's not convinced he can be anything but. 

"Yes, Ma… Cas." 

Castiel sits down on the sofa and pats the space next to him. Dean eyes it suspiciously, it looks soft and inviting, but he hasn't sat on a couch in years, except for when he was pleasuring someone. The closest he ever got was examination benches, and nothing good ever came from those. 

Castiel doesn't pay attention to his hesitation and instead hands him a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.  _ Clothes _ . Tears leak from Dean's eyes, this time he can wipe them away with his own hands. 

"Thanks." He sheds no modesty as he changes right there in front of Castiel, whose cheeks flush pink. The clothes are fresh, clean and soft and it feels like he can breathe. 

"If you sit down, I can take that collar off."

"Off?" Dean narrows his eyes, reaching up to touch the thick leather. 

"Yes. You don't need to wear it anymore." 

Dean swallows thickly. "I— I don’t want it off." 

Castiel looks downtrodden, eyes turning sad again and nodding slowly. "That's okay. One step at a time." It sounds like he says it more for himself than Dean. 

Finally, Dean sits and he watches as Castiel relaxes. 

"I run a group, and we take in slaves, get them out of the system and back to their families where we can, or rehabilitated and working on their own. It all started with you. You remember me, don't you?" Castiel's voice shakes. 

Dean watches him carefully, confused with the question. "I remember you. You were my best friend after… after Sammy. Sam?" 

Castiel's smile widens. "Sam is doing well. He helps me a lot with the legal side of things, especially since… well, since everything I do is against the law. He never stopped looking for you. He found you once, and I tried so hard to get you, but you were taken from me at the last moment.

"You were far more than a best friend to me, Dean." 

Dean closes his eyes tight and his memories take him back to the day he turned himself over to the slavers. Sam had been in a heap of trouble, owed a bunch of debt to Azazel, who wanted Sam as his slave in return for the money. But Dean stepped in and offered himself. He never told Castiel. Just dropped by his house, hugged him and sat close to him and relished in the close contact until he had to go. Castiel had been none the wiser at the time.

"I know." 

Dean hears a gasp from Cas as if he had never known. 

"I want to make sure you're feeling better before much else happens. I know you're underweight, and you've been through a lot, which is an understatement. I feel God-awful for asking, but I just want to hold you… like… like we used to." 

Dean's brain doesn't even give him a chance to refuse, and he lies down across the couch with his head in Castiel's lap. He's tense, neck still against the warm thigh under his ear, arms tucked close to his chest. Castiel's arm comes over him, stroking carefully down his arm. 

The television goes on, but Dean doesn't watch. He closes his eyes. "I'm really free?" he whispers. 

Castiel's hand stops, squeezing his arm gently, sending a pulse of warmth through his body. "Yes, Dean." 

Dean doesn't know when his collar comes off, but he hears the metal buckle be set down on the wooden side table. Cool air hits the sensitive skin and he takes a long, deep breath, trying to hold in his emotions. It doesn't work and Dean cries silently, tears soaking into Castiel's pants, but he doesn't seem to care. 

He decides then: when his brain isn’t swimming in unwanted chemicals, he'll fight again to be himself, his original self, the one who protected his brother and who secretly crushed on his best friend — though it's not so secret now. 

He gave up for the right person, he realises, but he doubts Castiel would have ever let him go. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, I apologise in advance for any sads *hugs*. I hope you're all doing well :) 
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://envydean.tumblr.com) | [My Writing Tumblr](https://envydeanwrites.tumblr.com)


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